The Sandstorm Palace
by Bons Baisers
Summary: Ten years after Leaf and Sand's broken treaty, the alliance between the two villages has grown strong. But when Wind's queen sends for a Sand shinobi, Kankouro discovers that trouble is brewing between Wind and Fire. Can the alliance survive war?
1. Chapter 1

I've always loved the Sand Sibs, so here's my tribute to Gaara, Kankurou, and Temari. None of them, nor anything else in Naruto 'verse, belong to me.

* * *

"You're not serious." 

"Fifteen minutes ago, Her Majesty's personal steward was standing just where you are now, and gave me these orders."

Kankurou's younger brother, Gaara, Sand's supreme shinobi, extended a rolled –but no longer sealed – scroll. Kankurourefused it.

"Masago Mikkako wants a Sand shinobi to be her personal bodyguard? That doesn't make sense, Gaara. Ever since that incident with Orochimaru, her Sentinels barely tolerate us, let alone trust us, despite your best efforts."

"Despite all our best efforts." Gaara turned away to look at the desert beyond his office window, as he often did when deep in thought. "I don't understand it either, Kankurou. That's why I want you to go."

A small smile, the one that could almost have been ironic if one didn't know Gaara well, pulled the corners of the Kazekage's mouth upward. "You're cleverer than me. I'm sure you'll uncover the truth of the matter."

Kankurou studied the serious lines of Gaara's face intently. "Will you be alright alone?" His tone came out flat, but Gaara understood him well enough to perceive the brotherly concern. The burden of the Kazekage was a heavy one, and whenever they were able, Gaara's older siblings took whatever portion of it they could carry.

"Temari will be home soon. She insisted on having the baby here, even though Sakura told her she shouldn't be traveling this late in the pregnancy."

Kankurou shook his head. "There's no figuring out that girl. I wouldn't worry about her, though. Shikamaru will look after her." It occurred to him that Shikamaru would probably keep an eye on Garra too, and relieve the pressure in any way he could. Observant, intelligent, and kindhearted, Shikamaru had won Temari's heart, and her brothers' friendship. The thought relieved him a little.

"Kankurou."

Distracted, Kankurou looked up to find his brother facing him again. "This may be the opportunity to repair the breach between the Country of Wind and the Hidden Sand Village that we have been waiting for. That's really why I'm sending you, because you know me best. I trust you to make promises and strike bargains as I would."

That small smile appeared again, kind and almost out of place on Gaara's thin, severe face. "Considering that I would make those promises and bargains almost entirely based on your opinion, anyway. Yours and Temari's."

"I'll leave first thing tomorrow morning." Kankurou's eyes slid toward the morning desert, and with a sinking feeling, he saw the first swirls of an early spring sandstorm gathering speed. Gaara followed his gaze and smiled a little.

"Or not."

* * *

"No." 

"Kankurou-dono, please, Kazekage-sama requested that we oblige the Masago in everything we possibly could. These are the clothes her steward brought."

"Absolutely not."

"Kankurou-dono…"

"Sheesh, Kankurou. When did you get to be so picky about clothes?" A very pregnant Temari stood in Kankurou's doorway, flushed with heat, but smiling broadly.

"Temari!" He dropped the fancy clothes to the floor, much to the dismay of the liaison who had produced them. "We didn't expect you until this evening."

Her smile became a ferocious frown. "_He_," she said, jabbing her thumb somewhere off behind her, "didn't want me out in a sandstorm like this." She spread her hands wide over her abdomen. "That bastard carried me ever since this morning at top speed." No frown could have hidden the pride and pleasure in her tone, but Kankurou knew better than to point it out. He grinned instead.

"Poor guy, having to lug a cow like you around all day." Pregnancy cut her reaction time down enough for him to dodge her blow, and he deftly stepped around her into the hallway where Shikamaru stood rolling his eyes.

"I wouldn't screw with her right now, Kankurou. She's been pretty irritable lately."

"Irritable!" Temari whirled on them both. "If you had to deal with this, day in and day out," she paused for a breath, but Shikamaru cut her off before she could resume her tirade.

"I am dealing with it, day in and day out," he said matter-of-factly. His eyes narrowed. "You," he announced firmly, "should be resting. It's been a long day."

Before she could protest, he'd swept her up in his arms. "You… you…" She tried again. "I am _not_ –"

"Don't argue with me."

Temari blinked, and then looked at Kankurou, who was trying – rather unsuccessfully – not to laugh. She flushed angrily. "What is so damn funny, Kankurou?"

"Nothing, Nee-chan." The humor faded, but not the happiness, and he could feel his grin slide into a warm smile. Reaching for her bulging belly, he rubbed it and was rewarded with a promising kick.

"This one isn't going to take after either one of you," he predicted. "That's a mean snap kick he has. Close-combat type, for sure."

"Could be a 'she,'" Temari retorted.

"Could be," Kankurou agreed mildly. He surprised her by tugging lightly at her hair. "I'll let you get some rest. Welcome home, Nee-chan." Nodding at Shikamaru, who shifted Temari slightly in his grasp to wriggle his fingers in an approximation of a wave, Kankurou retreated back into his bedroom with the frazzled liaison.

"Go tell Gaara – Kazekage-sama – that his sister is back in town." The prospect of a new nephew or niece would be sure to brighten Gaara's day.

"But, but, Kankurou-dono…"

"Go!" The fussy little man skittered out of the room and down the hall, leaving a Kankurou grimacing at the clothes on his bed.

"Ugh."

For a man who dressed in simple, practical black all the time, the kimono, hakama, haori, and obi were an insult. Subtlety was a ninja's greatest weapon in a crowd, and her Majesty Masago Mikkako had just robbed him of it.

Gaara's gentle smile suddenly came to mind, and with a groan, Kankurou shut his door and began to disrobe.

Everything was pure silk. The kimono was a dark blue, with the symbol for loyalty on the sleeves, chest, and back in a steely charcoal grey. Black hakama pants, accented with stripes of that same charcoal grey, a grey obi, and a short black haori completed the foppery. The only thing that roused his intrigue or (admittedly reluctant) admiration was the lining of the haori, which was adorned by a delicately painted village scene in blue, grey, and white. Elements of the Sand village were present, in the tall, rounded structures seen in the foreground, but the Sandstorm Palace, the center of Wind's bureaucracy and home of Wind's Queen, could be detected in the distance.

Her Majesty Masago Mikkako made no bones about her purpose in summoning a Sand shinobi to her side. Ten years ago, Sand had joined the Sound in an attack against Hidden Leaf Village, in direct violation of Wind's treaty with the Country of Fire. At that time, the Masago had been only seven years old, but her ministers had been outraged. Relations between Wind's Hidden Village of Sand and Wind's governing bodies had been strained ever since. The message in the clothing was clear – Wind intended to elicit Sand's deference, by one means or another.

Kankurou's lips pulled back over his teeth in anger. By tradition, the Kazekage stood equal with the reigning monarch. Any Kage had equal footing with a daimyo – that was the case in every nation which was powerful enough to have a hidden village, and most especially in the Five Great Nations. The garments and the orders were an affront to tradition, to Sand, and most gallingly, to Gaara.

"I didn't like them much either."

"Gaara." Kankurou didn't bother to turn around when his door opened.

"They should fit; I had them altered as soon as they arrived."

"I can't wear these."

"You'll have to discuss your internal conflicts over Her Majesty's choice of clothing when you arrive at the Sandstorm Palace. But until then, you'll wear them."

"There's no conflict, Gaara," Kankurou all but spat. "I can't wear them."

Something horribly sad flooded Gaara's face, and forced Kankurou to submit. "Unless you ordered me to," he said grudgingly.

The sadness lifted, though the seriousness remained. "I order you."

"Dammitall."

Gaara smiled a little, breaking the tension. "Let's visit Temari. She's been gone a long time." His eyes became distant. "I missed her." There was a faint note of wonder in his tone, and it tugged at Kankurou's soul to hear it. _Was I such a terrible older brother, that missing a loved one should be such new experience for him?_ A wave of guilt suddenly came over him, and as he followed Gaara out and down the hall, he pictured the kimono and its ugly message.

_I'll wear it for you, Gaara, because you think it's necessary. But my loyalty belongs to Sand, and its Kazekage, always. I won't let you down. Never again._


	2. Chapter 2

_I had originally intended to keep this story very short, and center it around, believe it or not, the Sandstorm Palace. But too many of my other favorite characters popped into my head as I worked out the plot, and demanded their own roles. So, whoever you like, they're probably likely to show up, sooner or later. I haven't fully introduced Choji's wife in this chapter, but please let me know what you think of her. She's been in my head for awhile... I kept thinking back to that episode where Ino tells Choji that girls like slim guys. He deserves somebody special, don't you think?_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

The sandstorm lasted for almost three days. Another six hours, and it would have surpassed the longest recorded sandstorm in Wind's history. Kankurou didn't usually believe in signs or omens, but the violence of this particular tempest unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

On the bright side, however, it gave him more time with Temari. Gaara hadn't been the only one to miss his eldest sibling. Motherhood had cooled their sister's hot temper, just a little, and there was an unmistakable happiness in her every gesture, every word. Gaara's eyes became very soft when he was with her, and seeing that softness in Gaara only strengthened Kankurou's resolve to defend Sand's special status within the Country of Wind.

It also gave him more time to discuss the implications of the Masago's orders with the council. Not that they had any more insight than he did. All agreed that the strange summons and the hateful clothes could only mean that Wind intended to interfere with Sand, but just how far that interference would be taken was anyone's guess.

The Masago was seventeen years old, and by law, finally able to assume authority in her own right. Her father, who had instituted the policies that led Sand to defy Wind's ministers and break the treaty with Fire, had been assassinated three days after her birth. In the weeks that followed, every single member of the royal family died – brutal murders, poisonings, and inexplicable disappearances – everyone, that is, except the queen, the current Masago. Many in the Country of Wind still believed that Sand shinobi, frustrated with the daimyo's unfair dealings with Sand, had been responsible for the massacre. Kankurou's father had always vehemently denied those rumors.

If Her Majesty Masago Mikkako put any stock in those ugly accusations, there was no telling what kind of strife could emerge between Sand and Wind.

He was watching the settling plumes of sand in the aftermath of the storm when Temari found him sitting atop the council building.

"You'll get sand in your mouth if you stay out here very long," Temari predicted, half crawling across the rounded roof, a little unstable because of her girth.

He reached out a hand to steady her even as he scolded her. "You shouldn't be up here in your condition."

She snorted indelicately and scooted closer to him. "I'm going to have a baby, Kankurou. I'm not dying."

"If you say so. I'm not going to argue with you about it." He winced; he hadn't meant to sound so indifferent.

"Kankurou."

He slid his eyes toward her.

"Gaara… he's a lot more upset about this summons to the Sandstorm Palace than he's letting on. And I think he's right to be. You don't know what you'll be walking into.

"The Masago's coronation ceremony is in less than a week. Gaara thinks – and I agree with him – that she suspects an assassination attempt. The ministers have been acting in her name all her life, but the minute she assumes the throne, everything they have done these past seventeen years is subject to review and change at her discretion. Without royal approval, no laws can be permanently changed; therefore, nothing her ministers have been responsible is actually law."

"Baki and I already discussed this. It's one other reason why it's best that I go. Sanshouo will be a perfect defense for the Masago in the event of an attack."

"I know you're best suited for this job, Kankurou." Temari sighed heavily and settled her chin in her hand. "Maybe its motherhood," she mused.

Kankurou waited.

"I've gotten so sentimental, these last few weeks," she explained with a rueful grimace. "I suddenly couldn't stand the thought of not being here, of you and Gaara not being nearby when the baby was born. Now you won't even be here. Shikamaru's wonderful, but…"

"This is home." He felt the left side of his face pull up in a twisted half-smile, and delivered a light blow to her upper arm. "I'll bring you presents from the capital when I come back."

"A yukata," Temari said firmly, kicking his shin – rather harder than he'd hit her, he realized with a wince. "Peach, with rose-colored flowers. And geta sandals."

"Peach. That's orange, right?" He grinned.

She glared at him. "Peach," she repeated distinctly, "with rose-colored flowers."

"I got it, I got it." They sat in a comfortable silence for several minutes, watching the sun set over the desert, painting it in fantastic amber hues, ranging from a robust cinnamon to a very pale gold. A lilac sky pursued the palest pink whispers of clouds into the west, escorting an army of glittering stars that followed behind.

"Kankurou, don't leave tomorrow morning without saying goodbye, okay?"

"I hate goodbyes. I thought you did."

"I do. I told you, I haven't been myself lately. So… just don't leave without seeing me and Gaara first."

He grunted.

"Kankurou, please." The earnestness in Temari's voice sounded nothing at all like her usual brash self. "I have a very bad feeling about this. Battle I can handle, but I don't like politics. Betrayals and assassinations and people who aren't what they claim to be… that's never been my style."

She hadn't approved of the decision to betray Leaf, he remembered. Deceiving an opponent in combat, that was one thing, but breaking treaties and relationships that had existed for years, lying to conceal one's true intentions, that kind of dishonesty she didn't like. He didn't blame her, but it was the only reason she had never been sent to work undercover for any length of time. Her intentions were too honorable.

"Don't worry. I can take care of myself. And I won't let anyone hurt the Masago, either." He frowned. "We can't really afford to let anyone think we don't have her best interests in mind. The last thing we need are people rehashing the three week massacre."

"She's pretty," Temari said, out of nowhere. "I saw her in the capital, last time I was there. Really pretty."

Kankurou shrugged. "Just another job," he said indifferently. Beautiful women didn't affect him quite like they used to. He was pretty satisfied with life the way it was, and the occasional one night stand didn't interfere too much. He'd always known he hadn't the patience for anything serious.

Temari had a peculiar look on her face. "You just keep that in mind."

* * *

He did say goodbye. Gaara bade him farewell, inscrutable as always; only a flash of regret appeared in his eyes before disappearing beneath a mask of calm serenity. Temari actually embraced him – a difficult feat, considering her bulk, and an astonishing one considering her temperament. Half-afraid she would burst into tears if he prolonged the parting, he slipped out of the village into the pale dawn with a quick wave.

The journey to the Wind's capital city was a pleasant one, if one didn't mind the solitude. Kankurou didn't. It had been quite awhile since he'd carried out missions in his old three-man cell, with Temari spending more than half her time in the Hidden Leaf Village and with Gaara wedged firmly into Sand's hierarchy and unable to leave. Disdaining to team with anyone else, Kankurou had become accustomed to working alone. The traveling just gave him time to think.

Sometimes he thought about improvements to his puppets; a few years after Sasori's defeat he had completely reinvented them, determined never again to be outdone by someone who knew his equipment better than he himself did. His newest puppet was his own creation, and he was very proud of it. In fact, he had conceived the idea while traveling alone, just as he was now.

Sometimes, though, he thought about Sand, and Gaara, how to better the village, how to take the strain off his brother's fragile shoulders. He considered councilmen, weighing their every word and deed for falseness, resolute that there would not be another incident like the one with Akatsuki.

Today, his mind juggled back and forth the endless possible meanings of the Masago's summons and Temari's approaching due date. It bothered him more than he liked to admit that he was going to be so far away when she gave birth. Their mother had died when Gaara was born, and although he trusted the skilled medics of Sand, he found himself wishing that Temari had remained in Leaf, with Uchiha Sakura and her phenomenal medical knowledge.

He covered the distance at a ground-eating lope and ate on the run, scarcely pausing to fish food out of his pack. At his pace, he would reach the Sandstorm Palace soon after nightfall. Certain he wouldn't be presented to the queen – or, technically, he reminded himself, the queen-to-be, until the morning, he had chosen to pack her ridiculous clothes away for the evening, and wait until his formal presentation to put them on. He didn't quite have the temerity to actually run in the damn things. That would have been an insult to Gaara, who had specifically asked that he comply with Her Majesty's wishes.

The trip proved uneventful, and he arrived at the palace exactly on schedule, just minutes after the sun had set over the horizon.

"Sir, please come with me?"

A pretty young maid in a crisp white kimono welcomed him with a smile, after the steward that met him at the gates had escorted him to one of the many outer doors of the palace. He followed her into a bedroom that was easily bigger than the council room at Sand, with a bed that would have slept five people Kankurou's size.

"The bath is through there, Kankurou-dono. You will be expected you to dine with the court tonight. Have you the clothing that was sent for you? I'll send someone to see that your attire is prepared."

He said nothing, but gestured to his pack, mind racing. He hadn't expected to have to meet the Masago so quickly, and wasn't prepared.

"Kankurou-dono?"

The girl's eyebrows were knitted together in puzzlement..

"What is it?"

"Are you certain that this is what you received from the palace? This kimono," she said, gesturing toward the long blue garment's calligraphy, "this isn't what was sent."

"That is what her steward brought." Dammit. He was becoming even more off-balanced.

The girl frowned, and suddenly, she didn't seem at all like the servant he had taken her for. "I see. I'm afraid there's been a mistake, Kankurou-dono. Has it been fitted?"

He nodded silently.

"I'm sure there is something more… appropriate… that can be found. I will see to it. Someone will prepare the rest of your attire while I attend to this." She took up the kimono with more force than was strictly necessary, obviously disconcerted. "Please excuse me. You have nearly an hour until dinner; please make yourself comfortable."

Kankurou watched the door for several minutes after the woman in white had left, waiting for the promised 'someone else.' When that person came, he briefly informed her that he would be in the bath and not to disturb him, and then he retreated into the private bathroom connected to his chamber.

It could have passed for a public bathhouse, it was so enormous. He grimaced a little at the pomposity of the marble lined basin that sank at least three feet into the floor. The water was hot, though, and after his run through the chill evening desert, it felt good. He washed quickly, and when he had finished, he wrapped a towel around his waist and headed back into the bedroom.

The first young lady had returned; the second had vanished. Her pleasant smile had also returned, and she gestured to the bed, where a new kimono lay beside the freshly pressed haori and hakama. It was very similar to the one she had taken away, except the symbol for 'loyalty' had been replaced with that for 'harmony.'

"This is what you should have received, Kankurou-dono," she apologized, bowing slightly. "I am uncertain as to how the mix-up came to be, but I assure you, I will look into it." A peculiar severity in her voice made him think once more that she wasn't the prim maid she seemed to be.

She straightened. "Dinner will be served shortly, but you have plenty of time to dress. Will you require assistance?"

He shot her a look of disgust by way of response, and was surprised to see her smile broaden a little with humor. "I thought not, but it would have been discourteous not to ask. Come outside when you have finished, and I will escort you to dinner."

She turned to leave.

"Hey."

Pausing, she looked over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

"You could at least introduce yourself."

Her mouth quivered with a scarcely suppressed smile. "I suppose I could at that." Turning back to face him, she raised her chin slightly. "My name is Azami, Second Tribune of Her Royal Majesty Masago Mikkako's Grand Palatial Sentinels. Welcome to the Sandstorm Palace, Kankurou-dono."

* * *

Several days later and many miles away, Uchiha Sakura stormed through her kitchen in a rare fit of temper, spitting some of the vilest oaths known to man at unoffending cookware. Her husband, wise man, had managed to escape her fury by pleading a meeting with the village elders.

"That idiot! I told her, I _told_ her that she shouldn't be traveling. She just doesn't listen to anybody, ever. And that damn worthless Shikamaru, well, who would have expected _him_ to be able to control _her_, anyway. Idiots, both of them." She threw a spoon at her wall with such force that an unmistakable dent remained in the wood when the utensil clattered to the floor.

"Are you still upset with Temari, Sakura?" A petite woman with dark hair and milky white eyes stood in Sakura's doorway, looking worried. "She left almost a week ago."

"Of course I'm upset, dammit!" Sakura exclaimed loudly, waving her fists wildly about her. "After that episode last week, she shouldn't have even been up and moving around, let alone on road for three days!" Fire flared in her eyes. "I could just kill that lazy-ass Shikamaru! He probably thought it was too _troublesome_," she drawled the word out sarcastically, "to argue with her! Dammit! Will that man ever grow a spine?"

Hinata smiled a sweet, gentle smile that perfectly captured her shy temperament. "I think you're underestimating him, as usual, Sakura. Temari is a strong-willed person, and he's often content just to follow along. That's always worked out well for them. I'm sure Shikamaru did everything he could to convince her not to go, but she's a difficult person to reason with. Besides, I know she very much wanted to be at home when the baby was born. Wouldn't you?"

"Not at the risk of the baby, or of myself," Sakura retorted, although Hinata's words had managed to take the heat out of her voice. "She's almost due!" she wailed. "I wouldn't even give her a week now – assuming strain of traveling didn't cause her to deliver early."

The image of a green and very frightened Shikamaru trying to deliver a baby by himself in the middle of the desert attacked her, and she groaned aloud.

"Well, if you're so worried about her," Hinata said mildly, chasing away the terrible thought, "why don't you go to the Hidden Village of Sand as well? It would put your mind at rest if you were there to help with the delivery, wouldn't it?"

Sakura scoffed. "Like I'm going to chase after an idiot who can't take care of herself."

* * *

Six hours later, Sakura was five hours out of Leaf on her way to Sand. She would have been further along, but Choji had seen her leaving the council building after she'd told Sasuke goodbye. Upon discovering that she meant to travel to Sand to be present for the delivery of Shikamaru's baby, Choji insisted she wait long enough for him and his new wife to throw a travel pack together.

Although Sakura was grateful for the company, she felt a pang of jealousy as Hayaka, Choji's bride, flew gracefully beside her in the trees. But then, she reminded herself ruefully, every woman in the village was jealous of Hayaka.

It wasn't enough that she was breathtakingly beautiful. Her hair was a most peculiar shade of blue, long and silvery. On missions, or while traveling, she braided it back to keep it out of her way, but that only revealed the striking, deeper-hued locks beneath her first layer of hair. Her eyes were huge and almond-shaped, with deep blue-violet irises that sparkled every time her eyes met her husband's. That would have been enough, that glossy, silver-blue hair and those unusual, exotic eyes, but it didn't end there. Hayaka's face was lovely too, sweetly heart-shaped, set with a full-lipped pink mouth. The woman looked like a goddess.

And even that wasn't the worst of it. Most unforgivable of all, the girl ate more than anyone Sakura had ever met and never seemed to gain an ounce. She had the figure of some mythical nymph or fairy – tiny, but with the long, slender proportions of a dancer. The top of Hayaka's head was just at Choji's lowest rib; in fact, when they were together, she routinely perched on the edge of Choji's shoulder, like a little bird on the branch of a very big tree.

The doctor in Sakura understood the physiology, of course. Hayaka's family jutsu raised her metabolism to ungodly heights whenever she used it, and if she didn't eat the way she did, using that jutsu would consume all of her body's stored energy and all the sugar in her blood within seconds. Unchecked it would reduce her muscle mass to nothing in a matter of minutes.

Hayaka was lovely. She was kind-hearted, and sweet-tempered – no doubt the reason for her close friendship with Hinata; the two had remarkably similar temperaments, though the latter was rather more introverted. She was a pro at espionage and surveillance, and took a great deal of pride in her new home in the Country of Fire. Most importantly, she was obviously head over heels in love with Choji. It was impossible to hate her.

But gods help her, Sakura did. And so did every other female in the Hidden Leaf Village. Except Hinata, who could no more hate Hayaka than she could hate anyone else.

"Thank you for waiting, Sakura," Hayaka said, rising through the branches beside her, her hatefully beautiful face glowing with a blissful smile. "Choji will be very happy to be with Shikamaru when he becomes a father." Voice like a bell, too. Dammitall to hell.

"He's been worried about it," Choji said. "I don't think he knew what to do when Temari insisted on going home. He said the only way to keep her down would be tying her to the bed, and she'd probably get loose from that, anyway. Poor guy. She's really almost too much for him."

"Choji," Hayaka chided, "don't say such things. Temari is a very sweet person."

Sakura and Choji both snorted at that.

"She just likes to have her own way," Hayaka added belatedly. "She's… strong-willed."

"She's pigheaded and domineering," Sakura translated. "And she's lucky I'm such a kind soul, or I'd leave her to rot in that stinking desert." The newlyweds shared a grin at Sakura's expense, and the trio continued their journey in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

As always, not my world, just my playground.

Dinner with the Masago was more or less what Kankurou had expected. He felt oddly grateful for the get-up he'd been forced to wear – it wasn't half as garish as what everyone else was wearing. Fabulously elaborate kimonos surrounded him, beautifully tailored garments stuffed with the dullest, most unimaginative people he had ever encountered. At least his hakama pants didn't trail miles along the floor around his feet. He couldn't figure out how the men were walking with several feet of fabric pooling around their ankles.

The only people who looked at all presentable, in his opinion, were the Sentinels – the Grand Palatial Sentinels, he reminded himself firmly, with a quick look at Azami, who sat beside him. The hundred-strong company of palace guards boasted the most elite soldiers in the Crown's Thousand Greats, the formal name for the Sentinel body as a whole, and they served as palace guards. From this elite group, a ten-man unit of personal bodyguards was chosen for the reigning daimyo or queen, ten men and women whose loyalty was unquestionable and whose skills were deemed supreme among the tightly knit company. His vigilant eyes picked out at least a score of them, all wearing black kimonos, floor length black hakama, and black haori jackets noticeably similar to his. The resemblance forestalled any resentment a more superficial person might have felt, at having been so underdressed in the court of pretty, brainless butterflies.

"They're pretty, aren't they," the Second Tribune whispered at his elbow.

He shifted his gaze toward her, but said nothing.

"The courtiers, I mean. Not a brain among them, I'm afraid, but they are very pretty." She grinned tightly. "You think very loudly, Kankurou-dono."

Mind-reader? _No_, he thought, schooling his disgusted expression into something less revealing, _moderately observant_. Anyone here with eyes to see could tell he was revolted by the lavish display before him.

"Is there a point to those pants?" he said, ignoring her commentary.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Wearing long pants in the presence of Wind's daimyo or queen is mandatory. The idea is that those pants will trip up a potential assassin."

He involuntarily shifted his foot – conspicuously unhindered by the "mandatory" long pants the courtiers were wearing. "Silly," he muttered. "A good assassin wouldn't be seen to begin with."

Azami's smile lost some of its tightness. "Of course not. But it's tradition. And courts just adore tradition." She glanced down at his feet. "You should consider the clothes the Masago sent you an expression of good faith. She assumed – correctly – that if left to their own devices, the servants would dress you up in something unbefitting a shinobi. Something like that, perhaps." He followed her gaze to a particularly ostentatious kimono and stifled a gag.

Azami's expression became softer still as her eyes settled on the young woman who sat enthroned at the front of the dining hall. "She was afraid you would be insulted if such a thing were to happen, so she chose your garments personally. I'm only sorry someone interfered with her gesture."

Although she didn't look at him, a note of warning, a non-specific but definite threat underlined her next words, and Kankurou felt an unfamiliar twinge of fear ripple down his spine.

"I'm sure you've noticed, Kankurou-dono, that other than yourself, only Sentinels have leave to forgo the long hakama."

Kankurou grasped immediately her unspoken messages. One, that the Masago had shown him profound respect in according him the same liberty as her personal guards. Two, that he had damned well better deserve her faith.

"About that interference," he began, but she raised a hand for silence. Her gaze on the dais where the Masago had been seated became very intent, and as he followed her eyes, he saw why.

The crowd of assorted nobility, vassals, and court functionaries fell silent as the queen-to-be rose, stately and magnificent, from her throne.

She was probably pretty. Royal types usually were, he'd noticed. Some were brighter than others, but most of them were attractive. It was hard to say, in Masago Mikkako's case, because her face was concealed beneath layers upon layers of black paint. Her hair was appealing, at any rate. Long and thick, it shone like burnished copper against golden rings that held masses of heavy auburn curls in twin tails on either side of her head. Several small ringlets had been artfully arranged around her face, softening the angularity he could see even under the paint. Her eyes were pretty too, a peculiar tawny gold that recalled the desert sand she reigned over.

Her lips and eyes had been painted a bright red, even brighter than the violet-red kabuki paint he usually wore, and the words 'life' and 'giver' were spelled out, also red, in thin, spidery calligraphy on her forehead.

She stood absolutely still, lofty and remote upon her dais, the embodiment of royal power. Only her eyes moved, drinking in the colorful, half-drunken crowd of flirts and idiots.

"It is my expectation that you all enjoyed your meals." She sounded the part, too; her voice was resonant like a man's, and nearly as deep. The rich, powerful sound carried through the hall like a sharp gust of wind, touching everything in its path.

A rousing cheer met her words, and for a moment she revealed her painted eyelids as they fell closed over amber eyes. "I am pleased. It is fitting that the condemned should enjoy their last meal."

Her eyes opened again, and narrowed into slits of molten gold, brilliant against the black and red of her painted face. "Your food was poisoned, ladies and gentlemen."

After a moment of stunned silence, panic struck. Screaming, shrieking courtiers bolted out of the seats, rushing the heavy metal doors that served as the only entrance, or exit, into the great hall. The doors would not budge.

Kankurou threw a sharp glance at Azami, who answered with a very slight shake of her head, then nodded almost imperceptibly to the dais, where nine Sentinels, presumably her personal guards, had formed a semi-circle around their Masago, each firmly planted into a basic battle stance.

Mikkako seemed to wilt a little, as if disappointed. "Why is it," her vibrating contralto demanded over the din, obviously amplified by some magic or other, "that these people I rely on to service my kingdom are so ready to believe everything they are told? If I informed you that the sky had suddenly turned green, would you run outside to inspect it?"

She shook her head, and her heavy copper ringlets swung ponderously over her black kimono. "Resume your seats."

Tentatively at first, the court of idiots returned to their tables, muttering darkly.

When the last fool had seated himself, the Masago raised an eyebrow, crinkling the painted symbol for 'life.' "The food is not, in fact, poisoned. But several of you will be subjected to the effects of a deadly toxin nonetheless, because of your disloyalty to Wind, and to the Sandstorm Palace. I have the antidote, right here in the room, and will be more than willing to administer it to anyone with the spine to admit to treason."

As the crowd gasped, Kankurou glimpsed a real emotion behind the paint as Mikkako's nostrils flared in aggravation.

"Ladymoss," she said, her voice quiet, but still reverberating through the room, "is a very rare spice cultivated in treetops in the Country of Fire, and served only in the most elite circles of Fire nobility. Alone, the spice is harmless, but coupled with fenwillow leaves, which contain trace amounts of heavy metals leached from the soil, it produces a neurotoxin similar to that found in green scorpions."

She smiled humorlessly. "Every dish before you was prepared with a fenwillow brew. It takes about three hours to take effect," she concluded. The dinner had begun just over two and a half hours prior.

"So, if you are among the traitors who attended the meeting with Matsutoyo Akihiko from Fire, I strongly recommend you turn yourself in. Those who come of their own volition will be given their lives, though you should know I will claim all else for the state. Those who do not come forward within the next three quarters of an hour will be dead, and their families will be exiled from Wind in perpetuity."

Silence met her matter-of-fact threat.

As the Masago waited, cold and unapproachable on her dais, Kankurou's mind raced forward. Country of Fire? That was Leaf's country – he had friends there – family, if you counted in-laws. Last he'd known, Fire and Wind were allies. What the hell had happened?

"This is a big part of why you're here, Kankurou-dono," Azami breathed. "Please relax. The Masago understands Sand's predicament."

He tried to answer her, but she shook her head and glued her eyes on her queen. Just then, a tall, good-looking guy came to the dais, head bowed. It wasn't hard to see, however, that his face was down-turned in barely suppressed fury, not fear.

"Harujiro, I'm shocked." The queen's tone said plainly that she was unsurprised. Golden eyes slid toward one of her Sentinels, who produced a vial. Another removed a pair of shackles from behind the queen's throne, and cuffed him before the antidote was administered.

As the good-looking guy was led away, fuming, six others slowly made their way to the platform where their betrayed queen stood, implacable and unmoved by their plight. By the end of the half hour, all of the traitors had turned themselves in, fourteen of them – three of them vassals. Mikkako assumed her throne to watch the last of them be escorted out.

"That was," Kankurou began in a grudging whisper, "incredibly well-executed. She forced them to reveal themselves, so no one could claim they had been falsely accused."

"She's very intelligent," Azami replied softly. "She's going to make an excellent queen." She frowned. "If we can keep her alive that long. She has some pretty unorthodox…" her voice trailed off as the girl in question began to speak.

"Today is a sad day for the Sandstorm Palace. Three of my great vassals, and not a few members of the lesser nobility, proved that Wind has been served for these seventeen years by traitors, and worse than traitors, by imbeciles."

No one dared answer her, and her golden eyes narrowed into red-painted slits again. "I told them – I told you all – not to believe everything you hear. Ladymoss and fenwillow are deadly together. But neither was involved tonight. Only treachery and foolishness.

"Despite such treachery, despite such foolishness, I remain well-served by a faithful few," she continued harshly. "I know those who are loyal to Sandstorm, and those whose loyalty falters at times."

With an elegant hand, she gestured to the paint on her face. "Do not forget who rules in Sandstorm," her narrowed gaze sought Kankurou's face, and then flickered away so quickly he doubted his own eyes, "and in Wind."

* * *

Temari lounged in her room, idly rustling through a stack of letters. This building needed repairs, Kazekage-sama. This mission hadn't been performed as efficiently as it could have been, and couldn't the Kazekage-sama please speak with so-and-so about their performance? These two children were acting up at the academy, and one of them didn't have any parents, and would the Kazekage-sama mind coming to give a lecture on the importance of academy work?

The blonde groaned and dropped the stack on her desk. Her new center of gravity caused her aim to be a little off, and the papers slid in an unpleasant, crackling waterfall to the floor.

She cursed. Gripping the edge of the desk and the arm of her chair, she slowly lowered herself to the floor.

"Temari!" Shikamaru strode – purposefully for once – to her side. Slipping an arm around her non-existent waist, he hauled her up on her feet and firmly pushed her down into her chair. "What did I get myself into, marrying such a difficult woman? It wouldn't kill you to ask for help, once in awhile."

Dropping to one knee, he gathered the papers, and winced. "I bet these were in a particular order, weren't they." It was not a question, because he knew her better.

Glaring at her suddenly too-helpful husband, she nodded. "I could have gotten them myself."

"You promised you would take it easy once we got here," he reminded her severely. "I don't think I can handle another episode like last time."

"Too troublesome?" she shot back, suddenly bitter. "It wasn't exactly the most pleasant experience for me, either, you know."

"Not troublesome," Shikamaru said, calmly, straightening the papers and handing them to her. "Frightening."

That took the sour taste out of her mouth. He always caught her off-guard, with the easy way he acknowledged his emotions. He was neither ashamed nor proud of them; they were simply there, to be dealt with as little effort as possible. Fighting a glare or a smile, or even tears, that simply was not in his nature. He probably considered hiding his feelings too much to bother with, at least until the stakes got interesting.

"Sorry," she said under her breath.

The press of soft lips against her cheek startled her, further defusing her irritability. With a sigh, she capitulated and settled the stack of papers on the desk, careful to push it well away from the edges.

"_You're_ the troublesome one," she groused, as her husband slipped his hands behind her knees and shoulders, picking her up like a child. "I never wanted a man who treated me like spun glass."

"I never wanted an exceptionally beautiful wife," Shikamaru replied, eyes dancing with good humor. He made his way to her bed, and if the extra weight inconvenienced him at all, he didn't show it.

"Beautiful?" Temari snorted, and lightly flicked her bulging belly. "Yeah, right."

"I didn't say 'beautiful,'" Shikamaru corrected her, settling her into the bed and climbing in beside her. "I said, 'I never wanted an _exceptionally_ beautiful wife.'

He untied her simple cloth belt and rested a comfortably cool hand against her bared belly.

"We both got exactly what we didn't want," he mused, sliding his hand further into her kimono. "I suppose that makes us both terribly unlucky."

"I suppose." Then Temari gasped, and suddenly the ill-behaved academy kids and the inefficient missions seemed very, very, very far away.

* * *

The remaining diners were dismissed, unharmed but badly shaken. Though clever, the Masago's ploy had seriously upset a number of her vassals and noblemen, and the aristocracy was a touchy bunch.

Kankurou didn't much care for politics. And he didn't much care for aristocrats.

"Come with me, please, Kankurou-dono." Azami extended her hand to him and crooked a finger toward herself. "Her Majesty wishes to speak with you."

"Azami." A deep, rough bass rumbled behind them. Kankurou turned.

A battered-looking, middle-aged Sentinel marched toward them, dislike evident in his craggy features.

"Ryouta-sama, please. Don't interfere." Though her tone was strong, her head was bowed deferentially, and Kankurou knew immediately who the man must be.

The Sentinels were the military elite in Wind. Companies of one hundred served under a Tribune, like Azami. There were various classes among the Sentinels; there were the Grand Palatial Sentinels, of course, whom Azami, as Second Tribune, was leader of, but there were others. Kankurou had long since forgotten the many classes and ranks of the Sentinels.

He did know, however, that the Great Thousand had been a rather less great nine hundred for almost two decades now. Each company of one hundred served a Tribune, but the First Tribune was not the head of any particular branch of the Sentinels; rather, he commanded the whole of the Great Thousand. For one thousand troops, there had always been eleven Tribunes.

The man who had served as the Eleventh Tribune had typically gone by a different name.

Kazekage.

Kankurou's father had been accused of ordering the assassination of the daimyo and his family; and, based on those rumors, the First Tribune had ousted the tenth company of Sentinels, a company that had been composed entirely of Sand shinobi.

Baki, Kankurou remembered, had been a Sentinel, once upon a time.

Azami and the man Kankurou knew must be the First Tribune of the Great Thousand were arguing, but both fell silent when Kankurou's fist plowed through the wall beside them.

"Kankurou-dono…" Azami said, wincing.

The First Tribune bared his teeth. "Let's go, you filthy, treacherous snake."

He opened his mouth to retort, but another's voice rippled into the tense moment.

"There's been more than enough hostility in the palace tonight. Stand down, Ryouta."

The First and Second Tribunes whirled around. Kankurou didn't bother. He recognized the voice.

"Kankurou, of the Hidden Village of Sand."

He turned around, slowly, so as not to seem either overawed or disrespectful. Bowing at the waist, he could see the hem of her satin kimono. "Your Majesty."

"Masago is fine."

Kankurou blinked and stood upright. The Masago was looking at him, an amused smile on her painted lips.

"Majesty," the First Tribune objected hotly, but she cut him off.

"Masago."

"That appellation is inappropriate, Majesty."

"It's my house, Ryouta. We follow my rules in my house, remember?"

"Yes, Maje – Masago, but _he_ –"

"Is a guest who has traveled a great ways at my request," she finished smoothly. "If you wish to accompany us, at least be civil. I've had all the tension I can take for one day."

"He's _that man's_ son!"

Those molten gold eyes flared briefly. "That," she said quietly, "is something we all need to discuss tonight." She turned back to Kankurou. "It is also why you haven't been permitted the sleep I'm sure you need. Please forgive me, and trust that I would be a better hostess were the circumstances less dire."

For the first time, she seemed to notice his kimono. She smiled. "I am pleased you saw fit to wear my gift, Kankurou. I trust it met with your approval?"

Azami caught his eyes and nodded.

"It does, now, Majesty."

"Masago," she corrected absently. "Now? What do you mean?"

"Someone sent him a kimono with the calligraphy for 'loyalty' stitched into it, rather than 'harmony.'" Azami crossed her arms and looked down. "I'm sorry, Masago. I should have caught it."

"Ryouta."

There was a sadness in the way she said the First Tribune's name that tugged even at Kankurou's heart. It was a little like the way Gaara said the word 'father.'

"Ah, ah," Azami started, startled, waving her hands, "I'm sure the First Tribune wouldn't have –"

But neither Ryouta nor the Masago were looking at her. Their eyes were locked on each other.

"If you're going to insist on having this piece of trash in your audience chamber, Majesty, I must respectfully request to be left out of the proceedings." Ryouta's voice grated out like sandpaper on flesh.

"Request denied. And watch your tongue. You're insulting me and my guest."

The First Tribune held his queen's calm eyes in a stony glare. Kankurou's fingers twitched involuntarily, responding automatically to his pent-up aggravation and strain, as if his soulless puppets had suddenly come to life to aid him.

Azami broke the silence with a placating tone. "Even if – especially if – Kankurou-dono meant Masago any harm, wouldn't you want to be nearby, to help her?"

Ryouta turned his glare on her, but in the time it took him to look away, his queen had swept past him and out of the hall. Her nine Sentinels followed after her, the only people left in the hall but Kankurou and the two Tribunes.

Fed up with the whole ordeal and seething inwardly at Ryouta's accusations, Kankurou followed them, leaving Azami whispering to a fuming First Tribune.

Beautiful. Oh, God, she was beautiful. Troublesome, oh, yes. But so beautiful. And so much more than beautiful. Smart, and brave, and loyal to a fault, and scrupulously honest when she could afford to be. She was so… so much _more_. His father had said something, long ago, about even a troublesome woman having a softer side, or showing her softer side, or something like that, and he understood it now. But he'd more or less figured out the best ways to get around her when she felt like making trouble for him, and all-in-all, their marriage was as smooth as could be hoped for.

She was sleeping quietly beside him.


End file.
